


Landscaping

by Ragga



Series: Steter Week 2k17 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Best Yard of the County, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, M/M, Murder Husbands, Peter's very proud, Steter Week 2017, if not the state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: There is a legend about greener grass.Peter and Stiles have proven it to be true.Aka. Peter likes his yard, Stiles likes the dirty work and together they keep Beacon Hills safe... with some selective extra.





	Landscaping

**Author's Note:**

> Second day! This was tons of fun to write. I hope you have as much fun reading it ;)

“How do you win _every single year_?!” the grandma next to Stiles huffed in frustration. “My garden is getting only the best fertilisers in the state and watered with the freshest of waters! And I came just in _third_. Even that… that _hussy_ Samantha topped me! At least she didn’t win _,_ ” the woman grumbled scornfully.

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, nodding at where Peter was standing a few feet away with his prize, surrounded by the awed crowd. “Peter’s the one who handles the yard. I just help with the dirty work.”

“But you must know something!” Aunt Margie-Margaret-only-for-my-ex-husbands insisted. She was holding Stiles’ arm hostage, preventing him from returning to Peter’s side. “Which fertiliser does he use? Where does he get his seeds _? How do you get your grass so green_?”

Stiles just raised his shoulders again. The old woman glowered, her wrinkles severe on her brows.

“Witchcraft,” she mumbled, daggers in her gaze and nails. Stiles hid his snort in a cough. Aunt Margie let go of him like he was the plague itself and Stiles used the opportunity to his advantage. He slipped away, laughing all the while to himself.

 _Peter’s_ the _shit_ , he bit his lip, fighting to keep the grin from spreading.

He pushed past the suburban ladies surrounding Peter that were trying to wheedle his secrets from him. He noted that Margie’s archenemy was amongst them. There were some younger women mixed in too. Two seemed to be trying their best to flirt their way into his graces while one was straight up pushing her lady bits in Peter’s face.

Peter’s expression was genial enough but his eyes were laughing, derisive.

Stiles forced his expression into submission and elbowed the tart out of his way. He sneaked his arms around Peter, overexaggerating his clinging to Peter’s arm. The look the whore sent him was pure poison. Stiles sent the brightest of his smiles at her, flummoxing her for a moment.

There just simply was no competition.

“We should celebrate tonight, _husband_ ,” Stiles said sweetly, glancing at where the tart had narrowed her eyes. “I made reservations at Yvonne’s.”

Peter looked at him, something tugging at his lips. “They have a long waiting list,” he pointed out. Stiles nodded cheerily.

“I made them two months ago,” he simpered. “I believed in you.” Stiles leaned over and pressed a kiss on Peter’s lips. He heard a few of them, possibly the old ladies, coo at him but also something akin to a scoff. He would bet all their winnings it was the tart.

“Well, in that case.” Peter nodded his goodbyes and promised to keep in touch with their neighbours and others from further away. He grabbed the check – a few grands, nothing to them really – he had won from the ‘Best Yard of the County’, third time in a row, and tugged Stiles along as they left the contemptuous and jealous away.

“I think our yard could stand to be greener,” Peter mused as they set off the town hall and towards their home near the preserve. “There are a few spots we’ve covered by the bushes but it would be better for the yard if it was symmetrical.” Stiles flicked his eyes at him, amused.

“Really, Peter? More?”

Peter shrugged. “You’ve never minded before. Dare I say, you’ve enjoyed yourself with the dirty work. Oh _dear_ , what would Scott say?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Scott knows shit about gardening and cares about it even less. You should know, _alpha_.”

Peter flashed his eyes at him playfully, the red beautifully matching the tie Stiles had got him on their first anniversary. Stiles snorted. He stretched his spine and heard a small crack from his lower back.

“I wasn’t kidding about Yvonne’s. Eight pm sharp, wine and all eight courses. You’re paying.”

“Yes, dear.”

***

“I’m so full!” Stiles sighed, leaning heavily against Peter as they walked towards their house. It was a pretty night, the moon half-full, lighting the streets under a soft glow. Since they lived a little out of the way, there were no cars going past them. The nearby houses were still mostly lit although some only had fairy lights in their yards, declaring to all passers-by that the owners had gone to bed.

“The dinner was delightful,” Peter agreed. He leaned down, nosing along Stiles’ neck. Stiles tilted his head a little, giving Peter some more ground. “And I’m sure the dessert will be even more so.”

“Didn’t you have enough at the restaurant?” Stiles smirked.

“A ‘quiche in the closet’ is not synonymous to sex no matter how good it tasted,” Peter said and leered, playfully biting Stiles’ ear. Stiles laughed and swatted at him, pulling Peter closer to him, never letting go of his hand.

“Mmm, then maybe we should just skip tonight and go straight to-”

“Tempting,” Peter’s breath lingered in Stiles’ space and he shuddered as it caressed his skin. “Alas, we still have things to finish before we go to bed.”

Stiles let out a put-upon sigh but his grin sharpened. “Then you better make it up to me.”

Peter’s eyes flashed with intent. “Oh sweetheart, you know I do. I always do.”

“My, you know how to spoil a guy,” Stiles fluttered his lashes at Peter who merely raised their hands and kissed the back of Stiles’. Metal glinted in the moonlight.

“You should know, you put a ring on it.”

“The smartest thing I ever did,” Stiles admitted freely. His nails pressed against Peter’s arm. “As was yours.”

Peter hummed, a smirk spreading on his lips. “Except maybe biting Scott.” Stiles rolled his eyes heavenward. The stars glimmered at them.

“You only say that because you could steal his alpha spark.”

“I beg your pardon?” Peter tossed his head, faking offended. “Steal _back_ the Hale spark, you heathen. And you know it.”

“I know, I know, my bad,” Stiles surrendered easily. The stars dimmed a little under his attention. “He did not appreciate turning back to human though.”

“Why would he? Being a werewolf was the best thing that ever happened to him; best thing that could happen to anyone.”

“You’re biased,” Stiles huffed a laugh but shook his head. “Some people only appreciate what they have when they lose it.”

“And then he _dared_ to blame _you_ , the ungrateful brat.” Peter looked decidedly bloodthirsty, eyes tinting red, despite them having gone through this conversation a dozen times before. “All he always complained, how everything was so much _better_ before. And then he got it and suddenly it wasn’t.”

Stiles’ expression darkened as he recalled the ensued fights, the revelation of werewolves to his father, the stretched fight against the alpha pack and the darach, the nogitsune wreaking havoc, the Nemeton and the Calaveras…

“And now, with his college states away, no longer responsible over Beacon Hills, able to live his life to the fullest in ignorance, he continues to hold a grudge,” Peter said, pulling Stiles against his side. “No pain, no gain.”

Stiles barked a laugh. “That was such a cliché.”

“So was he.” They finally arrived back at their house, opening their gate and walking past the luscious bushes and grass greener than in any yard around Beacon Hills. The flowers were in full bloom and even the trees were bearing fruit.

“Peter…” Stiles whined, tugging him towards the terrace. For once the rest of their pack wasn't home. “Couldn’t we just-”

“Nuh-uh,” Peter hummed, gently pulling Stiles along towards the small tool shed at the edge of the property. “We need to fix those spots I mentioned. Next time someone might even _notice,_ the horror. What would I do then, losing my place to the harlots? Greener pastures, Stiles, I need them _green_.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffed. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He kicked open the door, grinning down at the tart tied up, her slit eyes wide with fear, wild hair askew and a wet spot on her crotch, unnaturally sharp nails lying broken on the floor.

Stiles felt a rush of euphoria, and his eyes started glowing in tandem with Peter’s. Fear was floating around them, twisting the air, and Stiles _breathed_.

“Let’s get you your yard prize again, Peter.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts if you have the time to spare :)


End file.
